


Cabin Fever

by PlanetClare



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Winter Soldier (Comics), winterwidow - Fandom
Genre: Boredom, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Conflict, F/M, Frustration, Injured Bucky Barnes, Mending Fences, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Natasha Romanov, Restless, Rivalry, cabin fever, winterhawk - Freeform, winterwidow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 17:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlanetClare/pseuds/PlanetClare
Summary: Bucky Barnes is restless as he recuperates from an injury. Over a cup of coffee with the Avengers’ Clint Barton, he ends up mending more than just physical wounds.





	Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Daria, Janice, Sylvie, Yolanda, and Lou C. Thanks for your support!

Restless and unable to sleep, Bucky Barnes raised himself just high enough to peer over Natasha Romanov’s head to read the clock on her nightstand. The glowing green numbers read 3:00 a.m., and he felt anxious. About what, he did not know.

He disliked being around others when he felt this way – especially her. So, he silently rose from the bed and dressed in a pair of jeans, black boots, and a grey sweatshirt. Before leaving the bedroom, he scribbled a three-word note and left it on his pillow: ‘AT MY PLACE.’

As he entered Natasha’s living room, he awakened his therapy cat, Sébastien, who was lounging in his small bed next to his cat tree.

“Come on, pal. We’re going home,” he whispered to the black feline.

Looking up at him, the cat meowed sleepily.

“Shhh! You’ll wake your mom,” the assassin advised.

Bucky placed Sébastien in his carrier and then slipped into his black leather jacket. He quietly opened the door to the apartment and closed it behind him.

Downstairs, the assassin strapped the pet carrier to the back seat of his motorcycle and backed it out of the space that Natasha always left for him in front of her classic blue Ford Mustang. He walked the bike down to the street before starting the engine and taking off. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

In his small, dark apartment several blocks away, Bucky lay shirtless on his bed with his hands tucked under his head as he stared up at the ceiling. There were days when he felt edgy and unsettled, and he needed to be by himself. He was glad that Natasha understood and let him have his space.

“What are you doing?” he asked Sébastien as the cat lay next to him brushing his tail back and forth against the assassin’s bare side.

The cat meowed but continued to shift his tail.

“Cut it out – it tickles!” Bucky said trying not to laugh and upset his broken rib.

He lay still in the darkness listening to the feline’s gentle breathing and soon drifted off to sleep.

*  *  *  *  *  *

At 8:00, the assassin’s cell phone rang. Picking it up, he was shocked to see the time.

“I can’t believe I slept this late! Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked Sébastien who was sitting next to his food bowl a few feet away in the assassin’s tiny kitchen.

“Hello?” Bucky answered groggily.

“Hey, man! What – were you still asleep?”

“...Clint?”

“Yeah, man! How’s it going?”

“How did you get my number?” Bucky asked curiously.

“I have my ways.”

Bucky thought for a moment and then replied, “Ooookay...”

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked. You don’t call. You don’t write...” he joked.

Becoming annoyed, the assassin asked, “...So...what’s up?”

“Oh! Yeah...well, I heard ‘Tasha mention to Sam that you were under the weather, so I thought you could use a little company.”

Shocked, Bucky was at a loss for words. It was unlike Natasha to reveal much about Bucky to others, and he wondered if Clint had an ulterior motive in calling.

After a long pause, Clint asked, “Well?”

“Well what?” Bucky asked.

“You wanna meet me for coffee? I don’t know where you are, but Portofino isn’t far from ‘Tasha’s place.”

“Yeah, I know where it is,” the assassin replied.

“...Well?” Clint pressed.

“Uh...give me 30 minutes. I’ll see you there,” Bucky said and ended the call.

Sébastien mewed to remind him that he wanted his breakfast.

As he rose and walked to the kitchen, Bucky looked down at the cat and said, “Remind me to shoot myself for agreeing to this.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

When Clint arrived at Portofino coffee shop, Bucky was already seated at a table in the back next to a window. Dressed in jeans, knee-high biker boots, a navy t-shirt, and his black leather jacket, the assassin sat relaxed with a baseball cap pulled low over his brow. Through a pair of RayBan sunglasses, he watched Clint enter and order a coffee.

Like the assassin, the blonde archer wore a baseball cap – only backwards. His jeans and his purple and white plaid shirt were both worn and comfortable.

Approaching the table with his coffee, he asked, “Hey, man! You been waiting long?” as he pulled the chair in front of him and sat down.

“About 5 minutes,” Bucky replied still uncertain why Clint wanted to see him.

“What’s with the sunglasses?” the archer asked.

“Well, I _am_ a wanted man,” the assassin advised.

 “If you’re worried about being recognized, why sit next to the window?” Clint asked sarcastically.

“Shut up, Barton,” Bucky snapped. “What’s with _your_ glasses?” he asked looking at the black rimmed glasses which Clint was wearing.

“You know, being an Avenger, I get recognized a lot. So, sometimes I need a disguise to go out unnoticed.”

Bucky took a sip of coffee and then removed his cap. As his long brown hair cascaded over his face, he placed the cap on the table next to his coffee. He then slid his sunglasses from his nose to the top of his head. With his hair now pinned back, the assassin’s large blue eyes fixed on the archer.

“I know what you mean, but the glasses...isn’t that sort of a Clark Kent / Superman situation?”

“What do you mean?” Clint asked.

“I mean, Clark Kent has _some_ people fooled, but...”

“What are you talking about?” the confused archer wondered leaning forward in his chair.

“I’m talking about how Clark honestly thinks no one can tell he’s Superman.

Clint stared at Bucky in disbelief.

“You’re saying that Clark Kent is Superman? Dude, what are you talking about? They look nothing alike!”

“Are you serious? They look _exactly_ alike! The only difference is the glasses,” Bucky insisted.

“Of course you’d say that, Barnes. You’re a conspiracy theorist.”

“You mean you _honestly_ can’t see that they’re the same person?”

Clint stared at Bucky for a long moment. Finally, the archer laughed.

“Next, you’re gonna tell me that Tony Stark is Santa Claus.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Want anything else?” he asked nodding toward the snack case.

“No, I’m good for now,” Clint replied.

“I’ll be back,” said Bucky as he rose and strode toward the restroom.

As he walked through the coffee shop, women turned to look at the ruggedly handsome young man. His return moments later garnered the same reaction.

Before going back to his and Clint’s table, Bucky stood in line for another coffee.

After placing her order, a young brunette in front of him searched her purse for her credit card.

“I don’t know where I put it, and I’m sorry but I don’t have any cash,” she fretted to the cashier.

“I got this,” Bucky offered pulling cash from his wallet.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t let you do that,” the woman said.

“It’s okay. Really,” he assured her as he handed a five dollar bill to the cashier.

“Thanks so much!” the young woman replied and then stepped out of line.

Bucky placed his order and stood next to the woman who smiled gratefully up at him.

He smiled back at her quickly and then turned away to look at a display of bagged ground coffee. He was not interested but did not want her to become too familiar with his face.

“Yolanda!” a barista soon called.

The young woman stepped to the counter, accepted her order, and then sat at a table not far from Clint and Bucky’s.

“Steve!” a second barista called.

Bucky stepped to the counter and picked up his order.

Approaching his table, Bucky saw two young women talking to Clint.

“Thanks again, Hawkeye. You’re the _best!”_ one of them said.

“It’s my pleasure, ladies,” he replied cheerfully as they walked away giggling.

“What was that?” Bucky asked as he sat.

“Fans,” he remarked proudly. “What can I say? I’m their favorite Avenger.”

“So, the disguise didn’t work after all, did it, ‘Clark Kent’?” joked Bucky.

“Listen, don’t start that crap again,” Clint warned.

“Speaking of secret identities, what’s with _that?”_ he asked pointing to the name ‘Steve’ written on the side of Bucky’s coffee cup.

“Well, I’m not exactly going to give the barista my real name, or worse – my codename.”

“Yeah, you’re getting enough attention anyway,” Clint advised.

Bucky looked at him curiously.

“...What do you mean?” he asked worriedly.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I mean?’ You look like a GQ model trying not to be recognized. You haven’t noticed all these ladies checking you out?”

Bucky thought about what Clint said. The assassin quickly glanced around the coffee shop and saw that women were, in fact, looking at him.

Becoming self-conscious, he said, “I shouldn’t have come here. Someone might recognize me and turn me in to the authorities.”

“Relax. No one here knows who you are,” the archer advised.

“Then why are people looking at me?”

“Are you _really_   that dumb?”

Bristling, he replied, “Dumb about what?”

Clint sighed and asked, “When’s the last time you looked in a mirror?”

Bucky considered the question for a few moments.

“I’m saying that the ladies seem to find you appealing.”

Surprised, Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“I know. I’m as shocked as you are, man. You’re kind of scruffy looking,” Clint joked.

Bucky looked down at his clothes and then back at Clint. He realized that he probably had not given much thought to his appearance since 1945 – the day before Hydra captured him and set about turning him into the Winter Soldier.

“I hope you didn’t invite me here just to insult me,” Bucky said firmly.

“I’m kidding!” Clint advised. “Still, for some reason, women _do_ seem to find you appealing.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” Bucky said nervously pulling the left sleeve of his jacket closer to his wrist.

Even though his cybernetic arm was cloaked to look like flesh, he was becoming self-conscious about it now that he realized he was being observed.

“Clint, why did you invite me here?” Bucky asked abruptly.

“As I said, I heard ‘Tasha tell Sam that you were sick, so I thought you could use some cheering up.”

“I’m not sick,” Bucky replied.

“...You’re not? Then why –”

“I haven’t been sick since 1945. I’m _injured_ – not sick.”

“Oooooh! What happened?” asked the archer.

“Batroc. He threw me off a roof,” Bucky confessed before taking a big gulp of coffee.

“Damn!” Clint replied with his eyes widening.

“I landed on a car.”

“Daaaaamn!” the archer gasped. “You’re walking pretty good for a guy who got thrown off a roof.”

“I was lucky. I got a bunch of bruises, but the worst of it was a broken rib.”

“That’s luck, all right. Batroc is a nasty piece of work.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky agreed.

The two were quiet for a moment, then Clint broke the silence.

“More coffee?” he asked.

“Yeah, but I’ll let you get this round since you still owe me a thousand dollars from Poker,” the assassin advised with an accusatory smirk.

“Man, are you still talking about that? You can’t seriously expect me to pay. It was meant to be just a ‘friendly’ game. How was I to know that you count cards?”

“I don’t count cards. I just have a photographic memory,” Bucky clarified.

“That’s the same thing.”

“It’s _not_   the same thing!”

“How’s it different?” Clint challenged.

Bucky thought for a moment and then replied, “I don’t know. It just IS.”

“Either way, you shouldn’t hustle folks if – ”

“Oh, so now I _hustled_ you? Come on, Clint! Why don’t you just admit that you suck at Poker?”

“Listen, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, but count it as a charitable deed for a senior citizen.” As he rose from the table, he said, “That game was a ‘friendly.’”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Clint.

“What are you drinking?”

“House blend...black – no sugar,” the assassin informed him.

“Black?” Clint asked.

“Right,” Bucky confirmed.

“No sugar?”

“No.”

“No cream?”

“Black! Clint, just get the damn coffee and quit being a jerk!” Bucky snapped.

Laughing, Clint quipped, “I’m just playing with you, man. One bottle of hemlock – coming up!”

Bucky sighed and slowly shook his head as the archer left to place their orders.

As he sat waiting, Bucky glanced around the room. He already knew how many windows the shop had as well as where the back door was and how many customers were currently there. Geographical awareness was something that was second nature for Bucky. He learned it from his late father, and the habit served him well when he became a soldier and later the world’s most lethal assassin.

When Bucky’s eyes rested for a moment on a young woman with a short green haircut, she winked and gave him a flirty grin.

Quickly, the assassin looked away. In many ways, he was much more progressive than his best friend Steve Rogers was despite both men being frozen for seventy years. However, it was the realization that he was being observed without Clint sitting there that made Bucky feel exposed.

Upon his return to the table, Clint placed Bucky’s cup in front of him.

Looking at the side of the cup where his alias “Steve” should have been written, Bucky noticed that the name instead read, “Old Fart.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that, Barton?”

Clint smiled and said, “Really? Some people think I’m quite charming.”

“Yeah? Who’s that – your fleas?”

Clint let out a sharp laugh.

After a moment, the archer’s mood suddenly turned serious.

“Listen, I know we may have gotten off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I want you to know that I respect you, man. After everything you’ve been through, you still ‘fight the good fight’ and do the right thing. How do you do it? In your position, other folks would be consumed by revenge, but not you. I respect that, man.”

Bucky looked out the window. The sunlight made his eyes appear to be a lighter shade of blue.

“There was a time when I _was_ consumed by anger and revenge. I’m proud to say that I conquered that. Steve had a great deal to do with that change. He was determined to help me turn my life around, and I’m indebted to him for it.”

“Well, we know how much you mean to him, so that’s not a surprise.”

Bucky sighed softly before speaking.

“Part of turning my life around includes making amends for my actions, so I want to apologize for making that blast cap that blew up in your face.” [Takes place in “Bucky Barnes Goes to School” – Chapter 11: Homecoming]

The two men laughed heartily.

Clint replied, “That was a good prank, I must admit. I kinda wanted to kill you, though.”

“Sorry, pal,” Bucky said when he was able to stop laughing. “I’m also sorry for punching you in the face when we went drinking with the guys.” [Takes place in “Boys’ Night Out”]

“Yeah, I _really_   wanted to kill you for that, but I guess I had it coming.”

“You shouldn’t have been talking crap about the girls like that,” Bucky advised speaking of Natasha and Clint’s ex-wife, Dr. Bobbi Morse.

“Look man, I was drunk. ‘Bob’ and I are cool.”

“Bobbi’s a friend of mine and as you know, I don’t have many friends. She’s a good woman, and I don’t like to see her hurt.”

“I said Bob and I are cool. As for ‘Tasha, – ”

“Nope. You and I aren’t gonna talk about Nat,” Bucky interjected reluctant to discuss his girlfriend with one of her ex-boyfriends.

“...Fair enough,” Clint agreed.

After a moment, Bucky reiterated, “Like I said, I’m sorry I punched you.”

“I accept your apology,” Clint simply replied.

“Why are you being so agreeable today?” Bucky wondered.

“I think I learned something from that group therapy we tried. I realized that life really _is_ too short to bear grudges and harbor bad feeling. I realize that you’ve been through a lot and quite honestly, Steve’s opinion about you goes a long way with me.”

“I appreciate that,” said Bucky touched by the archer’s comments.

Studying the assassin’s face, Clint said, “You look tired.”

“I haven’t been sleeping,” Bucky confessed.

“Maybe you should up the dose on your painkiller.”

“The pain’s bearable. I’ve just got cabin fever. I’m restless and can’t sleep. I’m not used to so much inactivity. I can’t exercise, can’t lift anything, can’t...”

“No sex, huh?” Clint asked grinning.

“No...Not that either,” replied Bucky not meeting his gaze.

“There’s other ways to scratch that itch without doing ‘the nasty,’” the archer replied with a roguish smirk.

Bucky gave Clint a look that reminded him that he did not wish to discuss Natasha.

“That’s got to be rough,” the archer remarked after clearing his throat.

“I should be out getting scum off the streets. The most I can do right now is provide intel or remote surveillance. I’m good at hacking, but I’m so bored right now.”

“Recovery takes time,” Clint advised.

“Tell me about it.”

Clint watched as Bucky tugged once again at the left sleeve of his jacket.

“It’s okay. It’s cloaked. No one can tell the difference,” he consoled the assassin. He had never seen him self-conscious before.

Bucky watched as a tall blonde woman in a light blue sun dress walked toward them from behind Clint. When she reached their table, she held out to Bucky what looked like a business card.

“Excuse me. I think you dropped this,” she said with a straight face as she stared at the rugged brunette with blue eyes that were as large as his were.

Clint and Bucky both peered at what was scribbled on the back of the card.

              Vanessa

          212-555-0135

The archer raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at the assassin for his reaction.

Bucky stared at the card for a long moment before replying.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t drop that,” he said apologetically.

“Hmm...what a shame,” the woman said and then turned and walked away.

The other women watched as she left the coffee shop knowing that she had failed in her attempt to woo the handsome young man.

“Are you kidding me? She just put herself out there for you, and you sent her on ‘the walk of shame!’”

“Clint, even if I _weren’t_ in a relationship, a girl like that would never go for me.”

“It didn’t look like that from where I’m sitting.”

“As soon as she found out about _this,_ I’d never see her again,” Bucky advised pointing to his cloaked left arm. “Plus, she’d turn me in to the authorities.”

“You don’t even give yourself half a chance, do you? Not everyone is superficial, man.”

“‘Superficial? It’s not _just_ the arm. It’s everything that goes with it. The nightmares alone are enough to make someone chuck my ass out on the street in the middle of the night.”

“Now that all the Avengers know you’ve been sneaking into the Tower at night to be with ‘Tasha, I don’t recall anyone saying that they heard you having night terrors. Obviously, not everyone has been so bothered by it that they don’t want you around,” he said meaning Natasha.

“That’s just luck, I guess. The only place I usually _don’t_ have nightmares is at Steve’s place. I guess I feel safest there.”

Clint studied Bucky’s face for a few moments before speaking again.

“That can’t be easy for you.”

“Seems like nothing is,” Bucky replied.

The two men sat in silence for what seemed like a long time.

“Did you have breakfast today?” the archer finally asked.

Bucky tapped the top on his coffee cup with his right index finger.

“You hungry?”

“I could eat,” the assassin said with a boyish grin.

“Come on. I know a place,” Clint offered rising from the table.

Bucky removed his sunglasses from his head and placed them on his nose as his long brown hair cascaded over his face. As the two men strode toward the door, all of the women turned to watch with great interest.

Passing the register, Bucky placed a ten dollar bill in the tip jar.

“Thank you!” said the young woman who had taken his orders.

“My pleasure,” he replied as he put on his baseball cap.

The two men walked outside, and Bucky followed Clint around the corner to his car – a 1980 silver Chevrolet Camaro.

“Nice wheels,” Bucky remarked as he slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Thanks, man,” replied Clint before starting the car’s engine.

The assassin was startled as the radio suddenly blared loud Rock music.

“Sorry about that!” Clint offered, quickly turning down the volume. “I’ll see if I can find an Oldies music station for you,” he joked.

“Ha ha. Very funny,” sneered Bucky.

“Well, according to Steve, before there was electricity, you used to be the king of the Jitterbug.”

Bucky smiled at the memory of nights when he went dancing and every girl in the room wanted to dance with him.

“I assure you there was electricity before I was born.”

“Just kidding...not really,” Clint replied as he checked the car’s mirrors before pulling into traffic.

“So, where are we going, smartass?”

“I thought we’d go to Joey’s. The place is known for its pancakes.”

“Yeah, we go there at least once a week.”

 _“‘We?’”_ Clint asked knowingly.

Bucky glared at him for a moment and then looked out the window.

“So, what do you order there?”

“Usually scrambled eggs and sausage,” Bucky replied not sure why Clint cared.

“Protein? I guess you can’t go wrong with that. I’ve never had anything but pancakes,” Clint advised.

Parking down the street, the two men exited the car and strode toward the eatery.

“Two?” the seater asked when they stepped through the door.

“Yes, please,” Clint replied as Bucky silently counted the number of other patrons and made a mental note of each.

“This way,” the seater offered.

“Could we have a table by the window?” Bucky asked still feeling restless.

“Certainly,” the woman agreed as she led them to a booth and placed menus on the table.

Before sitting, Bucky removed his leather jacket and tossed it onto the seat. He then removed his cap and again moved his sunglasses to the top of his head.

Soon, a young woman wearing a green uniform approached them, smiled, and said, “Good morning! Do you need a few minutes to decide?”

Looking up at her, Clint inquired, “Do you have any senior citizens’ specials today?”

Confused, the waitress looked from one young man to the other.

“Shut up, Clint!” Bucky snapped. Without making eye contact with the waitress, he advised her, “Ignore him. He thinks he’s funny.”

“We know what we want,” Clint said with a snort. “I’ll have a short stack of pancakes and a side of bacon.”

The young woman smiled at Bucky expecting him to speak.

Still avoiding eye contact, he said, “Two scrambled eggs and a side of sausage, please.”

“Oh, and two coffees,” added Clint.

“Coming right up!” their server said as she took their menus and then strode toward the kitchen.

The two men relaxed and settled into their seats.

Gazing out the window, Bucky fixed his attention on the foot traffic as people passed by.

Clint noted the bags under his companion’s eyes and the sad look on his face.

“Do you always have trouble sleeping?” he asked curiously.

Looking at the archer intently, the assassin queried, “Hello? Did I neglect to mention my nightmares?”

Clint gave him a half smile.

“I can imagine how bad memories could keep you up at night.”

“It’s not just the brainwashing – the things I saw and the things I did, but...”

Bucky paused and once again stared out the window.

Continuing, he spoke in a whisper and almost absentmindedly as if his thoughts were far away.

“Hydra did things to me without anesthesia...”

Clint’s eyes widened as he imagined what horrors the assassin must have suffered. He glanced at Bucky’s left shoulder and remembered once seeing the scars that lined the area where his skin and the metal met.

Although it was difficult for him to imagine not having control over one’s own mind, he understood torture and human experimentation, and he had sympathy for his companion. 

“It’s certainly no wonder if it keeps you up at night,” he remarked.

“It’s no picnic for my...'sleep partner’ either,” Bucky confessed not wishing to mention Natasha by name.

Clint caught the inference but did not draw attention to it.

“Then, there’s the phantom effect.”

“The ‘phantom effect?’” Clint asked.

“You know – a pain or itch in my left arm.”

“After all these years, you still get that?” the archer asked somewhat amazed.

Staring intently at the man seated across from him, Bucky replied, “Thanks to cryostasis, it doesn’t seem like it was that long ago that I lost my left arm.”

“So, it’s like you get an itch that you can’t scratch?”

“Exactly,” Bucky agreed. “It drives me fucking nuts.”

Thinking for a moment, Clint remarked, “You should talk to Wanda.”

“Wanda?”

“Yeah, Wanda Maximoff – Scarlet Witch.”

“I know who she is. Talk to her about what?”

“She doesn’t just move things with her mind. She can also alter your thoughts,” Clint advised. “Maybe she could help you block some of those bad memories.”

Bucky immediately bristled.

“Over the course of seventy years, people have been messing with my mind and making me do things against my will. I’m not going to willingly let anyone in my head after what I’ve been through,” he said sternly.

“But if she could help you to forget – ”

Lowering his voice, Bucky barked, “I don’t _want_   to forget, Clint! Why should I get to feel better about the horrible things I’ve done? I need to remember. That’s my punishment, and it’s one I’m willing to accept.”

After a pause, Clint remarked, “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want help, but I respect that. If you ever change your mind – ”

“I won’t,” Bucky interrupted.

Just then, the waitress returned with their breakfast.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asked.

“No, we’re good for now, thanks,” Clint said and winked at her.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon, then,” she replied and turned to walk away.

“She’s cute, huh?” he observed.

“What?” Bucky asked looking up from his plate.

“The waitress...whatcha think?”

“Are you serious?” the assassin asked looking at the young woman as she walked to another table.

“Well, I know you’re ‘in a relationship,’ but you’re not blind.”

Staring at the archer, the assassin replied, “Boundaries, Clint. Boundaries.”

“Uh – you’re no fun. That’s you showing your age, old man.”

“You know, Clint, in calendar years, I may be old enough to be your grandfather but in physical years, you’re older than I am.”

“Only by a few years,” Clint was quick to point out.

He heard a song that was playing softly over the speakers and said, “Hey! There’s that Oldies music I promised you.”

Bucky listened for a moment and replied, “That’s The Beach Boys. That’s not ‘Oldies’ music.”

“Yes, it _is!”_   Clint protested.

“Well, it ain’t ‘old’ to me,” corrected Bucky.

“Maybe it’s hard for DJs to find recordings of barber shop quartets,” Clint said with a devilish grin.

“You’re a real comedian, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Approaching their table, a skinny boy with red hair and freckles handed Clint a napkin and an ink pen.

“You’re Hawkeye, aren’t you – the Avenger? Can I have your autograph?” he asked.

“Why sure, buddy! What’s your name?” Clint cheerfully replied.

“It’s Mike!”

“Mike, huh?” he asked as he wrote on the napkin. “Are you keeping your grades up and staying out of trouble?”

“I sure am! I want to be an Avenger just like you when I grow up,” he beamed proudly.

“It’d be an honor to have you on the team, Mike!” the archer assured him.

Turning to Bucky, the boy asked seriously, “Who are you? Are you an Avenger, too?”

As he pulled his sunglasses off of his head and placed them on his nose, Bucky replied, “Uh...no. I’m nobody.”

“Oh...well, thanks, Hawkeye! You’re awesome!” the boy remarked and then returned to his table.

Clint stared accusingly at Bucky for a few moments.

“Shut up and take off those stupid glasses! You’re obviously not fooling anyone,” Bucky snapped.

“I didn’t say a word,” Clint replied.

“No, but that look on your face speaks volumes.”

“You know, if you gave yourself half a chance, you’d find that there are people who actually care about you. Some of them even think you’re a hero. You can’t see that because you’re too busy throwing a ‘pity party.’”

Bucky’s eyes widened. Offended, he called, “Miss! Could we have the check, please?” He was angry and ready to leave.

“...Sure,” their food server replied surprised since they had only eaten half of their breakfast.

“No!” Clint told her. “We’re not done yet.”

“Oh, okay...” she said becoming more confused as she walked away.

Leaning forward, Bucky sneered, “You think you know everything, don’t you, Clint?”

“Oh, I’m sure that right about now, you’re thinking of the one hundred ways you could kill me – ”

“One hundred and one, actually...”

“Whatever, old man!” Clint snapped. “Listen, I and more people than you think feel bad about what happened to you all those years with Hydra. We can’t imagine what you’ve been through but one of these days, you’ve got to come out of the shadows and stop hiding away. You were a victim, and you deserve to put the past behind you.”

Bucky sat quietly for a long time. Part of him wanted to punch Clint. The other part appreciated his efforts to understand and accept him.

After the long pause, Clint said, “Give yourself a chance. Tony said you’re cleared to come to Avengers Tower, so do it. We could use your insight on missions, and you’d benefit from the companionship.”

“...I can’t just...I mean...I’m not used to being around people anymore. I don’t trust people, and they don’t trust me. It’s...complicated...” Bucky answered as he gazed out the window.

“Just think about it, okay?” Clint suggested quietly, sorry that he snapped at him. He realized that the assassin might be emotionally more fragile than he had ever imagined him to be.

When their food server walked past their table, Clint said, “We’re ready for the check, please.”

“Coming right up,” she replied with a smile.

Looking at Bucky sympathetically, Clint asked, “Can I drive you home? Oh,...I don’t even know where you live,” he realized.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk,” the assassin replied as he looked away from the window and focused on the archer.

“Barnes – ”

“I’m not mad. I just need to clear my head,” Bucky interrupted.

“Well...if you’re sure...”

When their food server brought the check, Clint grabbed it just as Bucky reached for it.

“I got this,” he declared. “Man, I could have _sworn_ you ordered the ‘seniors’ special,’” he joked as he looked over the check and placed a $5 tip on the table.

Bucky smiled and slowly shook his head from side to side.

The two men rose and walked to the cash register. After Clint paid the bill, they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Clint watched Bucky put on his leather jacket and asked, “Are you sure I can’t drive you somewhere – to your place...or ‘Tasha’s?”

“No...I’m good,” Bucky replied.

“Well, you know where the Tower is. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Thanks,” said the assassin.

For a few moments, both men felt reluctant to leave. Finally, Clint pulled his keys out of his pocket.

“I’ll see you around, man.”

“Yeah...see you,” Bucky agreed as he turned and began to walk away. Out of habit, the assassin observed the archer from the corner of his eye to ensure that he did not follow him.

*  *  *  *  *  *

When Bucky returned to his small, dark apartment, he found his therapy cat Sébastien lying on the assassin’s petite sofa.

“Hey, pal! Sorry I was gone so long. Whatcha been up to?” he asked as he scratched the black feline on the top of his head.

The assassin removed his jacket and laid it on the arm of the sofa. Sitting next to the cat, he picked him up and placed him on his lap. He kissed the cat gently on his head as he rubbed his tummy.

Just then, Bucky’s cell phone buzzed. Pulling it out of his jacket pocket, he looked carefully at the screen.

“Hmm...Nat...” he said before reading her text message.

          **BigRed:** Check your secondary bank account.

          **SoldierBoy:** Why?

          **BigRed:** Just do it.

Switching from their secure phone line to a secure browser, he quickly checked his second bank account and saw that a deposit had just been made in the amount of one thousand dollars.

          **SoldierBoy:** Why did you give me $1K?

          **BigRed:** I didn’t. Hawk did.

          **SoldierBoy:** Hawk?!

          **BigRed:** He sent it to me to give to you. Said it would ‘mend a fence.’

          **SoldierBoy:** Thanks! It does.

          **BigRed:** Coming back to my place?

          **SoldierBoy:** Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.

          **BigRed:** Miss you.

          **SoldierBoy:** Miss you too.

Ending the chat, he put his phone back into his pocket.

Looking down at his cat, Bucky thought about his morning with Clint. He knew it took a lot for the archer to finally pay him the one thousand dollars he owed him from Poker, and the assassin accepted the gesture as an attempt to improve their relationship.

As a sense of calm waxed over him, Bucky took a deep breath. His broken rib still ached, but he felt less restless. Today was turning into a good day. Perhaps tomorrow would be even better.

**Author's Note:**

> © 2017 Planet Press
> 
> The Marvel characters herein are the property of Marvel Comics which retains the rights. The characters of Sébastien the Cat and Yolanda were created by this author.


End file.
